To Wordsworth

 Poet of Nature, thou hast wept to know 
That things depart which never may return: 
Childhood and youth, friendship and love's first glow, 
Have fled like sweet dreams, leaving thee to mourn.
 
These common woes I feel.
 One loss is mine 
Which thou too feel'st, yet I alone deplore.
 
Thou wert as a lone star, whose light did shine 
On some frail bark in winter's midnight roar: 
Thou hast like to a rock-built refuge stood 
Above the blind and battling multitude: 
In honored poverty thy voice did weave 
Songs consecrate to truth and liberty,-- 
Deserting these, thou leavest me to grieve, 
Thus having been, that thou shouldst cease to be.

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